


Lost and Found

by Darth_Videtur



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Darth Plagueis - James Luceno, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Jedi Master Dooku, M/M, Multi, Punishment, Training, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Videtur/pseuds/Darth_Videtur
Summary: Jedi Master Dooku is following the trail of a rogue Dark Jedi, but his pet project as he searches for the recognition he deserves leads him into a situation he was not prepared for.A very dangerous situation.With flaming red hair and golden eyes.Force help them all.
Relationships: Hego Damask | Darth Plagueis/Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious/Dooku | Darth Tyranus
Comments: 30
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Chapter 1: A Discovery for the Ages

Dooku peered into the darkness of the room, taken aback by the rank smell of death. Small bodies of creatures lay here and there on the dirty floor, some missing limbs or heads, others ribs or pelvic areas. What foul experiment had the unknown Dark Jedi been keeping here? 

He caught sight of something moving against the far wall, and he instantly activated his lightsaber, bringing it across his chest in a defensive posture. Not for the first time he wished he had brought another Jedi on this mission. Sometimes his headstrong nature offended even him. 

Nothing flew out of the shadows at him, although he was prepared for anything. Instead, he saw a lean body hanging limp, bared and bloodied, chained by its arms and legs to the cold wall, a pulsing collar that reeked of the Dark Side around the thin neck. 

Dooku’s eyes widened. Maybe not everything.

It was a young man, his chin sunk down in either exhaustion or unconsciousness. He could not have been older than twenty standard years, and far more importantly, his presence glowed in the Force. It screamed of muted hateful despair, of the Darkness in that collar, and deeper. It made Dooku want to vomit, and he swallowed hard.

Why would one Dark Jedi keep another captive like this…. Unless they were enemies. 

“Boy…” he called into the dark room, tense and wary. His lightsaber’s bright glow lit up the pale, freckled skin. Dooku could see dark crimson, caked and dried along the youth’s slender wrists, rubbed raw by the manacles. The bright red hair was stained darker in places with crimson. He saw more brutal scratches, dried blood on the boy’s inner thighs, streaked in long, cruel finger marks, and his heart sank. 

_ He’s been violated…. Good Force! Someone has been keeping him here, maybe even using him.  _ The Dark Jedi he had been pursuing? Perhaps for a long time, judging by the animal corpses and some of the yellowing bruises on the boy's ribs, each bone outlined clearly under the fragile skin. 

"Boy, wake up," he said more sharply to kick the growing anger down, and the Force around him quivered and crashed in on itself, folding up the glowing presence into a box of utter void. The Jedi Master clutched his lightsaber, half afraid the suction would take his own presence with it. 

Finally it stopped, and the boy lifted his head with an effort. Dooku inhaled and couldn't catch his breath. 

Radioactive, sickly yellow eyes stared out of the sunken eye sockets at him. A snarl of hatred sounded in the Force as the boy's conscience materialized and he recognized what Dooku was. Thin fingers tugged fruitlessly at the unfeeling manacles. 

For his part, Dooku stopped short at the sight of those golden eyes. A heavy blanket of dread settled around his shoulders and nearly bowed the lightsaber outstretched in his hand. 

"Sith eyes," he said, numb, stunned as the answer flowed to him from the whispers of the corrupted Force around him. "You aren't Dark Jedi at all. You're Sith." 

Sith were supposed to be extinct. Jedi had excised them from the galaxy with extreme caution, for Sith were a dangerous evil that could not be tolerated in a universe of light. For all of Dooku’s work that led him here, he never suspected anything more than rogue Jedi or untrained Force wielders. Yet, the proof of their continued existence hung before him: a Darkness he could have never imagined, a darkness he dreamed and could never remember, and a naked, battered youth with eyes the colors of twin suns. 

Eyes that watched him now, aware in a silent, expressionless face. A mask. 

Dooku would have expected a continuing rage, anger, or even fear upon seeing a Jedi approach in their lair, but the Sith against the wall now looked utterly blank. His struggles had ceased. His presence in the Force burned as a lone tiny candle, nearly nonexistent, and Dooku suspected immense shielding in place. He remembered what it felt like before the inward folding. 

This Sith was either trained, or a natural in the process of being trained to conceal his signature in the Force. 

Suddenly everything in this place made too much sense.

Sith. 

This was how the Jedi would learn of the return of the Sith? Dooku wanted to scoff, to turn away and leave this hideous lab behind, bury the Sith and leave the galaxy a few more years of ignorant peace.

He looked into those glowing eyes again, and this time he saw pain there too, dulled with time and experience, but there. 

The boy was in agony. 

He found his feet would not follow his command to leave. Instead, he stepped closer, wincing when the bound Sith growled raggedly and bared slightly crooked, surprisingly intact white teeth. 

"Easy," Dooku said, uncertain it would do any good. It felt like approaching a wounded, wild animal. 

This must be the Sith Apprentice. Just a… 

A Sithling. 

What could he possibly do? The young man would be destined for a lifetime of maximum security prison and endless interrogation, if Dooku brought him back to the Council. He was young, probably knew very little, and he had clearly been abused and violated in some grotesque manner, possibly many times. 

Could he turn a broken bleeding boy over to the Council to become nothing more than a token of interest? Nothing more than a living relic of the Sith Order to be verbally dissected by the Council for the rest of his long, miserable life in a Jedi prison? And then Dooku could continue his path into obscurity, respected and powerful, but shunned and avoided by most of his shortsighted Jedi peers as usual. 

Dooku’s lip curled. 

Or rather… rather… could he rescue the boy and turn him to the Light, and become known as the only Jedi in a thousand generations who had faced the Dark without blinking and won?

Dooku could easily imagine Yoda’s expression when he presented him with the boy, purged of the taint of Darkness. He could see that wrinkled lipless mouth open in shock, then curve in pleasure, and yes, pride. Pride in Dooku, for what Dooku had done and no other. Yoda liked to say that the Darkness dominated one’s destiny once they started down that path. 

If he could do this…. He would be no ordinary Jedi. He would be a legend. 

The rest of them would not look at him with shadowed eyes anymore. They would not be able to deny his brilliance, and most importantly, they would have to listen to him at last. The whispers about him, about his past, about the other student, those whispers would stop. 

He could make the changes the Order needed most. He could make the Council finally understand. 

Dooku stood stock still. Almost as though he were there, the Force showed him a future of promise. Snatches of voices, pleased and adoring, hushed discussions, a surge of the Light, searing away all corruption before it. 

This boy. He could be the catalyst for this vision. 

He brought his gaze down on the broken body and the edges of a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “Easy,” he said again, with confidence this time, the confidence of knowing he could change all of this, and stepped forward. “I’m going to get you out of here.” 

The Sithling’s eyes cracked open wider. With a small jerk of his head and a glance at the dark door, he made his lack of faith in Dooku’s words clear. 

Dooku approached his left side and reached for the leg manacle. “I know what you are, so don’t think of fighting back, boy. You’re in no condition to resist, and I will not hesitate to strike you down like the Sith you are if you take to causing trouble.” 

He pretended not to feel the thin ankle flinch under his touch as the cold metal fell away and the young man’s body lurched down. Dooku steadied him, internally surprised the Sithling was mostly bearing his own weight. 

_ He looks half dead.  _

He released him, fingers drifting to the hilt of his lightsaber, but the boy made no move to kick out or struggle. Those golden eyes merely watched him in eerie complete silence through the blood streaked on his narrow face and caked on his red lashes, and Dooku made a mental note to put this Sithling in the bath almost the moment they got back to….

Back to…. Where? Where would he take him? 

_ Home. Take him home to Serenno. It is far from the Jedi waypoints, and your ancestral lands are large and well guarded. No one would know, not even the Council.  _

And what of his padawan Qui-Gon? Already a strapping youth of twenty-two, Qui-Gon Jinn walked with a carefree swagger and poked his nose into everything his master did. Dooku would have to take care with him to keep the Sithling’s secret. 

The risks loomed large, but the reward promised much more. Through this act of selfless charity, the ultimate battle a Jedi could fight, with the Dark itself for a pitiful soul, Dooku would save the life of this wretched boy  _ and  _ earn his rightful place in the highest echelon of the Jedi Order, even as the Council claimed such things did not exist. 

He popped the other leg manacle loose with a judicious twist of the Force under his fingertips, and stood as the boy emitted a muffled gasp of pain and sagged against his wrist restraints. 

"Steady," Dooku said, not trusting him in the slightest. He looked into that blank face and saw fresh blood dripping from the aquiline nose. 

"Here now, what's this?" He pulled the satchel from his belt and fished out a small cloth. Pressing it to the base of the nose, Dooku heard the soft moan of pain and watched the eyes flicker shut. 

_ He does not like being touched, that much is clear, but there's something more… why has he not attempted to attack me even once?  _

A chill ran down his spine as he glanced at the tight, glowing collar around the slender throat.  _ Or perhaps he has tried, hence the nosebleed. That collar is cutting him off from being able to wield the Force. I see now, I can feel it constricting around his presence like a noose.  _

Instinctive loathing filled Dooku, but the idea that the Sith Master employed had merit. How would he control the wild boy once they were back on Serenno, and the lithe body was made whole again? For his own sake, Dooku could not let the Sithling run free. 

He decided. He would find a different collar, one that was not soaked in the blood of Darkness and pain. 

One that would teach this boy his rightful place, and only in wearing it, would he be freed from his chains in the Force. 

And Dooku would be freed from his. 

That thought spurred him to work the wrist manacles loose quickly, and he caught the fragile body in his arms as the Sithling collapsed. Securing one hand on his lightsaber, and slinging the Sithling over his opposite shoulder, Dooku strode for the door. It was best they leave before the Sith Master had thoughts of returning to take stock and further abuse of his apprentice. 

He worried about the return of the Sith. He worried how light the Sithling was. He worried about his own sanity in undertaking this task, but Dooku did not fear worry.

Dooku did not fear this Sithling or his master. 

And Dooku did not fear the Force. 


	2. Chapter 2: How to Clean Your Sithling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku tries to take care of his new Sithling, and it's more difficult than he expected. By far.

Chapter 2: How to Clean Your Sithling

The trip to Serenno proved strangely uneventful. Dooku, to his distaste, elected to leave the collar fixed to the Sithling's throat after summoning one of his family's yachts to pick them up (his Jedi starfighter would stay on that Forceforsaken backwater planet, as he would, assumedly), although he suspected there was no need. A cursory examination of the young male showed recent malnourishment, several fractured ribs the droid had quickly refused, low blood counts, several infections already, and extreme exhaustion. Who could fight back in a condition like that? 

The ship's medical droid seemed surprised the Sithling could move at all under his own power. There was no possible way he could pose a threat to a healthy and alert Jedi Master. 

But something about the boy… Dooku left the collar on. Instinct? The whispers of the Force? Something about the redheaded youth spoke to a hidden danger, an unseen disaster that could strike at any moment, even half dead. 

The yacht's medical droid attended the Sithling as Dooku brooded in his spacious cabin. Ever since he had accepted the heritage of his family, the luxury of the Serenno nobility life calmed him. So many years of Jedi sparse living, and this… well, he took a small amount of pleasure in it. It seemed only right to enjoy the fruits of his ancestors’ efforts when the Jedi had denied him the knowledge for so long. They were paranoid, the Council, believing that creature comforts led to the Dark Side, like everything else in life outside of a strict regimen of denial. 

Denial led to want, and Dooku could tell them where that led, but he did not. He had learned to keep his mouth closed more often around the Council members, as he had already created enough trouble, and they would not listen to him anyway. He saw the way their eyes narrowed in disapproval when he stalked the halls in his Serenno silk robes, the expensive weave of his cloak, but he was a Master now, and they could not wield their desperate power over him anymore. 

At least certainly not in how he chose to dress himself. 

The ship’s chimes sounded, and Dooku glanced out the port window to the sight of Serenno sprawling below, the massive oceans and mists of foam and fog lapping the shores of the landmasses. 

His family chateau lay not far inland from the mightiest ocean of Serenno, the Old Stone. Ragged peaks surrounded the family home on three sides, dusty brown towering mountains that gave way to deep forests at their bases, ancient forests that crashed up against the turbulent waves of the Old Stone. 

Serenno was rarely calm, and it matched what Dooku felt now as the yacht loomed down into the atmosphere and docked at the family port. His mother and father having both passed of the dreaded Serenno Influenza several years ago, Dooku had clandestinely accepted the mantle of Count of House Dooku, neglecting to pass that information on to the Council as of yet, and swearing the other House heads to secrecy as a condition of his acceptance. His dead brother’s son Adan Dooku wore the title publicly under his mother’s regency. Stability meant everything to the Counts of Serenno, and a House must have a Head, even one shrouded in silence and hidden behind a puppet body. 

He stalked down the ramp, the Sithling bundled in medical blankets and strapped to a flotation gurney and sailing silently down behind him, the medical droid rolling alongside. Dooku preferred droids to people in his mansion, and none of the original house staff remained besides a couple of the oldest, tightest-lipped servants. 

‘Loose lips sink ships,’ Dooku could remember his father saying often when he was a tiny lad, staring out at the Old Stone, before they gave him away to the Jedi. 

_ And family bonds mean nothing, right, Father?  _

He shook the gloomy, sentimental thought away and strode up the old granite steps to the main entrance of his home apart from the Jedi Order. His other siblings had long since moved away, his interactions with them contained to the few times they met to seal his inheritance. His brother’s wife could not conceal her disappointment that Dooku had returned and robbed the inheritance of her son and the family palace, and Dooku could not conceal his distaste at the idea of such a materially-driven individual being in his family line. 

Perhaps if he ever did leave the Jedi Order, as he considered from time to time, he would have her and her grubby boy exiled from Serenno. The thought amused him. 

Droids opened the doors to him, and he motioned the medical droid up to his side. How easily the practice of giving commands came to him. 

“Have the boy brought up to the master suite,” he said, brows furrowing. “Draw a bacta bath in the main chamber, and prepare…” he glanced down. The Sithling lay, seemingly unconscious, in his own filth. Although the medical droid had done a competent cleaning of the open wounds with its limited resources on the ship, caked blood still coated the red hair, grime still collected under the strangely manicured fingernails, dirt still stained and clung stubbornly to the creases in the bruised pale skin. 

“Prepare a plethora of cleaning supplies.” 

The droid’s motors whirred. “You do not wish us to fully repair him in the medical center?” 

Dooku shook his head. “No, I don’t wish to take my eyes off this one for long. I will attend to him myself.” 

The droid clicked in affirmation. “The bath will be drawn. The patient will be waiting for you.” 

Dooku turned without another word and marched down the long, cold hallway of the palace entrance, the large stone walls looming two stories tall, lined with light fixures that mimicked the ancient torches of his ancestors. The home of House Dooku for centuries, the palace was built in the style of a great castle, although most of the exterior had been updated to reflect the most recent advances in automatic defenses and technology. 

Generations would come and go, and the palace of Dooku would watch silently and sit in judgment of its people. Dooku wondered how it felt about a Jedi within its walls, if it could think. Sometimes, it seemed nearly alive in its squatting disapproval. 

He liked it. Austere, firm, minimal, but with touches of elegant luxury. 

Dooku rustled up two bottles of wine from deep in the kitchen cellars and two glasses, and carried them up the grand staircase to the master suite. He needed a stiff couple of drinks after what he had seen in that… lab. He would also need to consider his plans for the Sithling. 

The return of the Sith…

It hardly bore thinking about. 

Dooku pushed open the door to his room and nearly dropped the wine bottles when he stumbled over a broken statue of the goddess Martiat, her legs shattered and her sightless eyes staring him down with accusatory insolence. 

“What-?” He looked the room over, shocked to find multiple items scattered on the floor, and… scratch marks on the inside of the door? He looked closer as he set the bottles down on the dresser. Nail marks carved into the expensive wood around the handle, as though someone had tried to desperately force it open.

The Sithling. Dooku whirled, hand flying to the hilt of his lightsaber. “Boy,” he called out, low and tensed. “You cannot hope to escape this house, and breaking my things like a wild animal will not gain you any favors.” His things… Jedi weren’t supposed to have things, and yet he did. Many of them. 

Not expecting any answer, Dooku followed the trail of chaos with his eyes and feet, until he found the Sithling curled in a linen sheet between his bed and the stone wall. The young man’s wild yellow eyes watched balefully from above the bloodied hem of the sheet, his lean body trembling and tangled in the fine cloth, his bright red hair stuck to his face in sweaty curls. 

Dooku sighed. “That was a very expensive set of sheets, Sithling. And you’ve opened some of your wounds again.” 

He turned, walked back, and relocked the door, wondering how his medical droid had fared in delivering the boy up here. A little beast, more like. How long had the boy been drowned in the Dark Side to act like this? Well, Dooku would expect better of him before long. He had no intention of hosting a wild animal in his home. 

Dooku walked toward the smaller man, and was rewarded with a warning hiss. 

“No,” he shook his head, scowling at the sound. “I am not here to harm you, or torture you, or do what your master Sith did to you. But I will not tolerate uncouth behavior from you, Sithling. You are my… my ward now, and you will act as one.” 

The Sith’s eyes widened, and slender fingers curled tightly into the sheets as though they wanted to constrict around the Jedi’s neck. Knowing Sith and Jedi, Dooku assumed that was the case. He would need to be very cautious around this creature until he was sufficiently tamed. 

Dooku stopped a meter away from him and glared down. “Can you stand?” 

The Sithling did not respond, shifting that eerie gaze from the Jedi to the opposite wall and refusing to look up, reminding Dooku strangely of some of the more fanatical revolutionary soldiers he had interrogated in his time as peacekeeper on various planets. 

Dooku snorted. “I don’t want your Sith secrets.”  _ Not yet anyway… _ “But you need to be cleaned up. You’re filthy. I asked if you can stand.” He had thought the boy’s injuries too severe, but if he could demolish Dooku’s room in the effort to escape, then he could likely get up under his own power. He noticed the collar around that thin throat pulsing with contained power. Perhaps the Force itself had given him the urge to keep the collar on, and Dooku was grateful for it now even though it reeked of Darkness.

The Sithling still did not answer him. Dooku’s patience running thin, the Jedi advanced again, and the youth flattened his thin body further against the cold wall. 

Unfortunate that Sithlings did not come with ready-made scruffs, Dooku thought, like the tookas outside the Jedi Temple. 

“Sit up,” he rumbled. 

Nothing. Dooku’s temper spiked under his disciplined shields. “I tire of your useless obstinance, Sithling. You need that bacta bath, or your wounds will fester.” 

He reached for a pale, fragile-looking, bruised wrist peeking out from the sheet, and felt sharp teeth flash into the sensitive flesh between his thumb and first finger. 

Dooku roared in surprised pain and jerked his hand back. He stared at the blood welling up in disbelief, then at the Sithling, who glared back with bared, freshly bloodied teeth as though Dooku should be the one in trouble for reaching for him. Floored, the Jedi felt his throat working through very unJedi-like anger. He suppressed it only with great effort, his hand throbbing in pain. 

Hopefully the little runt didn’t carry diseases. 

He reached out, faster this time, and shoved his fingers roughly into the crusted, thick red hair. He pulled hard and dragged the Sithling out from between the bed and the wall into the main area of the room. The Sithling for his part hissed and wriggled, trying to maintain his grip on the linen sheet and claw at Dooku’s arm at the same time. Dooku dodged a kick and shook him hard. 

“Cease this immediately,” he growled. For the Force’s sake, did the boy want to be in pain? Why had he thought that would work? Time for a change in tactics, he had tried kindness. Now discipline would have to do until his generosity could be appreciated. 

Dooku hauled him up by the thick tangle of unruly hair, and the Sithling whined in pain, slender body twisting and struggling, hands coming up to latch onto Dooku’s arm in a desperate effort to ease the pressure on the roots of his hair. 

Reaching down with his free hand, Dooku seized the hem of the sheet and tore it from the Sithling’s grasp and body. He tossed it away, then ran a critical eye over the naked and battered form. Fresh blood oozed from several of the deeper cuts along the boy’s ribs and legs, exacerbated by his stubborn resistance. Ribs showed under colorfully marked skin, each breath heaving the concave lines of his taut abdomen in and out. The Sithling’s smooth manhood hung limp between his thin legs, scratched up and still outlined with streaks of his own blood.

“Little fool,” Dooku sighed and jerked his eyes upward lest he look too long. “Look what you’ve done to yourself. Stop struggling, and come along.” Dooku tugged him forward, toward the direction of the expansive refresher, just beyond his large bed.

The Sithling only grew madder in his efforts as his knees slid over the fine carpets, bucking and growling and slashing with his clawed hands. Dooku, grateful for his long sleeves, strode forward regardless, and made it past the bed to the entrance of the master bath. He cast critical eyes over the scene, pleased to see a multitude of shampoos, soaps, and bacta cleaning supplies sitting arranged in methodical order around the back rim of the bathtub. 

The Sithling sagged in his grip, perhaps reaching the end of his reserves. Dooku was glad. He might have eventually hurt himself if he’d kept going like this. What a mad, strange little Sith this was, though he admittedly hadn’t met very many Sith. One so far, and barely a full grown one at that. 

“That’s better,” Dooku allowed the small praise to slip from his lips, then more gently pulled the Sithling up and gathered him into his arms, still keeping a grip on that hair just in case a fresh fight broke out, hooking his other arm underneath the bony knees. 

He was shocked at the heat emanating from the small body, and the trembling. Wide golden eyes fixed on his face, the teeth open and ready to snap if Dooku got within range. 

Force… the Sithling was  _ afraid  _ of him. Did he think Dooku meant to beat him? 

Or… or worse? 

Dooku felt his nose wrinkle in deep disgust at what the Sith’s master had done to him, eyes dropping for a moment to those narrow bruised hips snug against his chest. Disgust, and outrage. No one, not even a Sith, deserved a betrayal of that magnitude. 

He cleared his throat. “Do not fear that I will violate you, Sithling. That is not the Jedi way.” 

The Sithling’s eyes narrowed, but now an ashamed flush appeared on his high cheekbones, accentuating the scattered freckles of his face, and he looked away from the Jedi. A thin sigh slipped from thinner lips. 

Dooku felt something in his chest twist with pain at the sound. “Come along,” he said gruffly, to hide the sympathy. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

The water, run to a perfect warm temperature by the service droids, swirled with a heavy mix of bacta application, and Dooku lowered the Sithling’s thin body into the concoction. His sleeves soaked, Dooku sighed and removed the outer garment, then rolled the inner sleeves up to his elbows and sat on the edge of the bath. The Sithling watched him warily from the far side of the tub. Slender fingers clung to and nearly disappeared against the porcelain edge. 

Dooku held out a washcloth of the finest Serenno linen. “Here, start cleaning yourself up.” 

No response. Trauma was a strange thing. 

He sighed and reached out, gripped the closest arm carefully by the wrist, and extended it out. The Sithling shook harder and pressed as far away as he could get as Dooku ran the cloth up and down his arm, wiping away the crusted and fresh blood in turns. The bacta went to work almost immediately, the priceless ingredient working to close the open lines of blood and disinfect the wounds he had reopened on himself. 

The Sithling growled insolently at him when Dooku scrubbed at a particularly deep cut on his forearm. 

Dooku chuckled, “Hurting in this case is a good thing, Sithling. It means the wound is being cleaned. We need to get the toxins out.” It reminded him of the times Qui-Gon ran to him as a young padawan, bleeding from a cut he got in training, or from trying to catch the feral tookas outside the Temple. He felt a twinge of guilt thinking about Qui-Gon. His padawan, slow to approach his trials, was nearly ready to become a Knight, but yet Dooku was here with a hidden, half-dead Sith cub. 

Finished with the arm, Dooku used it to pull the Sithling across the tub to him, ignoring the threatening rumble coming from that thin chest and instead focusing on cleaning it. The Sithling tried to shove his hand away, but Dooku caught his wrist in his other hand and held it high and firm, out of the way. He ran the cloth over the youth’s narrow chest, feeling the firm muscles, eyes flickering over the pink duskiness of the two small nipples.

Dooku saw them harden with each pass of the linen, perhaps from the cold, or the trauma, or the cloth. He smoothed over them, to clean the last stains of blood away. Someone, likely the Sith master, had bitten him too near the left one, leaving a nasty ring of teeth marks. The Sithling shivered and pressed against the side of the tub as though he intended to burrow under Dooku and disappear. 

“Easy, Sithling,” Dooku murmured. He moved away up to his neck, then his other arm, still holding that slender wrist immobile. The Jedi firmly, carefully tipped the youth’s head back, and brought water up cupped in the fine linen. He washed the narrow face, careful of the teeth and eyes. The freckles shined up all the brighter for it. 

Then the Sithling thrashed without warning, sending a spray of water with his free hand up into Dooku’s face. He sputtered and scowled. “Easy, I said.” He got an idea, and moving swiftly, he swooped down and caught both wrists in one large hand, holding them aloft and switching the cloth to his other hand. He forced the Sithling further down onto his back in the water, and brought it up to that curly head of hair. It took many dips of water, and several bouts of shampoo and conditioner, but finally a beautiful, natural red began to emerge under the layers of dried blood and grime. 

Dooku smiled wryly at the sight. “I think it matches your temper, Sithling.” 

He was surprised to hear a soft snort of derision from his charge. 

“You’ve heard that before, I take it?” 

No response. 

Dooku sighed and sat him up in the tub again. “You’ll feel better with all that out, anyway.” Still keeping his grip on the thin wrists, the Jedi ran the cloth down the Sith’s sides to his ribs, the bacta already reclosing the open wounds. He felt the boy stiffen as the cloth dipped lower. 

“You need to be cleaned up,” he reiterated, low and solmen. “Sithling, it’s nothing personal, but you risk infection without this medication.” 

Steeling himself, Dooku held the wrists more tightly and dipped the cloth to the base of the Sithling’s manhood, and found himself struggling to keep the younger man in the tub. Thrashing and twisting, he almost managed to wrench free of Dooku’s grip, so the Jedi reluctantly called on the Force to still the bucking hips. 

The Sithling glared up hotly, rage in his bright eyes. He spat in Dooku’s face. 

Dooku winced and scowled back. He loathed saliva, especially when it wasn’t his own. “You try my patience. I  _ will  _ clean you up, and you  _ will  _ accept this. You are a Sith, a prisoner, and… you  _ will _ do as I command. You have not earned my trust, and you do not get to call your shots here.  _ I _ am your master now.” 

Holding the youth’s wrathful gaze, for it felt like a dangerous challenge that he could not afford to ignore, Dooku reached down again and ran the cloth clinically over the Sithling’s length, trying to ignore the flash of heat when his finger accidentally brushed the smooth skin in the process. He made sure his finger did not touch flesh again. 

A hissing whine slid from the Sithling’s thin mouth when Dooku finally dipped lower to the hairless balls. Was it natural, or had the Sithling been shaven? He was not that young to be hairless, but yet he was, completely, except for the ginger trail from his navel down to the small nest of curls above his penis.

“Easy,” Dooku murmured again, determined to get him clean. There was blood here too, far too much blood, Force, what had been done to this one? “Be still. This will be done soon.” 

He moved down between the trembling legs, gently but firmly pressed them apart until the Sithling sat splayed and flushed in the tub, wrists still locked high by Dooku’s iron grip.

Dooku felt a stroke of guilt, but the Sith had been violated, he needed the bacta.  _ You could have had the droids do it… _ He swallowed hard. It was like caring for a wild, wounded animal, that was all. Like caring for the wounded and dying rebel prisoners back at… don’t think of it, trying to save their lives from the hideous onset of all the infections a jungle could offer… Dooku firmed his nerves, adopted that clinical perspective, and pushed the cloth further down and back, dragging the linen between the taut thighs and searching for…

The Sithling arched and keened, struggling with fresh fear and hate against his grip as Dooku put light pressure on his sensitive hole. Dooku grunted, surprised at the strength on display despite the collar and his own use of the Force. 

“No,” he gritted out. “Don’t struggle. You’ll harm yourself. You need the bacta placed inside to heal any… any tearing within.” Tearing usually always happened with the rape of a male or female’s back channels, as they did not handle such force easily. Dooku had seen too much of the aftermath of messy planetary wars to not know that. Clenching his teeth, Dooku ran the cloth over the tight entrance several times until he realized it would be ineffective internally. He moved onto the long, lean, trembling legs with a fresh cloth, and satisfied that the Sithling had been mostly cleaned, he prepared for the most difficult part of all. 

Dooku set the cloth aside and reached for the intensive-care bacta oil. The Sithling saw him, slender throat working almost violently. 

“It will be over quickly,” Dooku said in a low tone. “You’ve been hurt down there. I can’t let infection set in.” 

He made his hands utterly businesslike as he worked to turn the Sithling over, set his mind to the medical task at hand. A Sithling dead from some hidden, untended infection would be a worthless Sithling for his purposes. 

“No.” 

Dooku froze. “Did you...?” 

“No.” The Sithling glared up hotly, defiantly, clearly afraid and trying not to show it, trying to twist back around. 

  
“Am I to leave you wounded?” Dooku demanded, though something thrilled in him. The Sithling had spoken at last. Progress. He  _ could  _ speak. 

The Sithling swallowed hard again, his voice deeper than Dooku expected and raspy with disuse. “No… give it to me. I’ll do it.” 

“So you can get free and attack me again?” 

The younger man’s eyes briefly closed, as though he fought to hold certain horrible words behind his thin lips. “If you let me… I will not.” 

Dooku offered a harsh bark of a laugh. “Am I to believe the word of a Sith?” 

The youth did not look away. “It is all I have.” 

Something in that…. Something in the way the Sithling sounded so defeated, so humiliated, so hopelessly angry, put Dooku back. He sought a reply to that, and found nothing, only a tight, sharp nod as he realized that he understood in some strange way. 

“Be thorough,” he finally warned, releasing the thin wrists and watching for a trap. 

The Sithling rubbed the circulation back and nodded. “I will.” The flush remained in his cheeks, but he pulled himself slowly up in the tub. His eyes darted meaningfully to the door. 

Dooku took his meaning and flushed under his beard, too. “I will not turn my back on you, you haven’t earned that trust, but I will not watch.” 

Standing up quickly from the edge and pivoting on his boot heel, he strode to the door of the refresher and turned back, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms gruffly over his powerful chest. “Tell me when you are finished.” 

The Sithling watched him for a moment, thin lips twitched up, the faintest nod, and then he slid down below the line of the tub’s edge and out of sight, bacta oil in hand. 

Dooku hauled in a rough breath. He found the goddess alcove above the tub an adequate place to rest his gaze. He did not watch. 

He had gotten into something past his expertise, he suspected now, but it was far too late to change his mind. This Sithling belonged to him now, whether he wanted it or not. 

How would he ever explain this responsibility to Qui-Gon? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Things just got very tense here between Dooku and his pet Sithling! Eeep!  
> 2\. Dooku is just trying to take care of his wounded Sithling, but certain matters complicate things.  
> 3\. Still, Dooku is a very honorable man. He is going to figure this out somehow, no matter how hard Sheev makes it for him.   
> 4\. Let me know what you guys think! I love hearing your thoughts in reviews, and I’ll always reply back, as soon as I can. :)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Not my first Sheeku fic, but definitely my wildest one.   
> 2\. Things are gonna get crazy!   
> 3\. Let me know what you think! :) I love hearing from you guys.


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